The Honeymooners
by tsora17
Summary: Sherlock is allowed to plan his and John's honeymoon. A series of small adventures of SH/JW in the United States. M/M so you are forewarned.
1. Chapter 1

Established Johnlock – obvious M/M so you are warned. Just a few ideas of what their honeymoon would be like.

I don't own any characters, etc, etc.

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Walking off the plane rather stiffly, John and Sherlock headed to get their luggage. As they waited for the carousel to bring their bags to them, John tried to hide behind a pillar to avoid the annoyed gazes from the other passengers. The first part of their honeymoon had been lovely, but now John was having second thoughts about letting Sherlock arrange it all.

Sherlock stood beside him, leaning on the pillar, not bothering to notice the looks their fellow passengers were giving them.

"John, don't be so touchy."

"Sherlock," John hissed. "I'm not the one who got bored enough to start 'deducing' every single one of the passengers _before_ we left the runway in New York City."

The detective huffed. "I can't help it. I'm not the one who decided to have exactly the same movies and music on the flight from New York to Knoxville as they did from London to New York."

"And that's another thing. Why are we even here? I understand going to New York for our honeymoon, but why Tennessee? I mean, from what I've heard, the southern states are not as understanding of our type of union."

Sherlock grabbed their bags. John took his, raised the handle, and began dragging it behind him. Sherlock followed close behind and continued to talk.

"Oh, ye of little faith. John, we here for the amazing autumnal colours – for the lure of the Great Smokey Mountains," Sherlock paused leaving the one he held in highest esteem for last, " – for the Body Farm."

John stopped abruptly making Sherlock plow into him. The doctor turned around and glared at his husband. "I'm sorry. For the what?"

"The Body Farm, John. The affectionate name that the Forensics Department of the University of Tennessee have given to their study of decomposing bodies in various outdoor environments."

"And, you're taking me to this Body Farm as part of our honeymoon?"

"Yes, Mycroft's wedding present was a sizable donation to the Body Farm which essentially gets us a full day's uninterrupted tour."

"Couldn't he have just given us tokens?"

Sherlock stopped and looked at his new husband's body language – shoulders squared and head slightly bent down. Quite a bit of not good. He started back peddling quickly.

"Well, I have arranged other diversions for you on that day if you choose to not come with me."

"What diversions would those be?"

"The University hospital is nationally known for its work in respiratory illnesses."

"And, you think that I want to spend a whole day of our honeymoon in a hospital?"

"There are other things to do in Knoxville. They do have a rugby club. I've arranged a tour and there is a match on that day."

"Really?" John's face turned a little hopeful. He had played rugby in his youth and still followed it regularly. This diversion to Tennessee might not be as bad as he thought. "What are they called?"

"Oh. Uhm. I have it here somewhere." Sherlock rummaged around in his pockets before pulling out a piece of paper. "They're called, The Knoxville Possums."

"Sherlock?"

"Yes, John."

"What the _fuck_ is a possum?"

* * *

The drive from Knoxville to Gatlinburg was breathtaking. The mountains were beautiful and the colours on the leaves held a motley combinations of vivid golds, deep reds, and bright oranges. The warmth of the colours made the mountains welcoming and seemed to have a positive effect on John's mood. Although he didn't want to let Sherlock off that easily for dragging him all this way to look at rotting corpses, John had to admit that this section of Tennessee was beautiful.

Once in Gatlinburg, John also had to admit that Sherlock had made a good choice on their hotel. While it was nothing fancy, the room had a private balcony overlooking a river coming down from the mountains. The freshness of the air added to its coolness while the sound of the river running over rocks and down little waterfalls was relaxing and stimulating at the same time.

John stood on the balcony breathing in crisp air and watched nightfall descend on the town - his hands resting on the railing. A multitude of shops and amusements kept the town lit up. John noticed the light in their room go dark before feeling Sherlock's hand snake around his middle to hug him from behind.

"You're still wet!" John complained.

Sherlock had just emerged from the shower in his blue dressing gown. He still had his normal Sherlock smell because he'd insisted on bringing his usual shower gel with him. It contained maple sap and cypress nuts and left Sherlock with a woody and natural scent which was only enhanced by the scent of the woods and river around them.

"Well, it was your turn for a shower next anyway. Thought you wouldn't mind." Sherlock lowered his head to slowly plant kisses along John's neck. John leaned back into Sherlock. At this point he didn't mind about getting wet any more.

John let out a sigh of want and need, "Let's continue this inside."

John tried to turn around to kiss Sherlock, but the detective placed his hands on top of John's - also grasping the railing.

"No. I want you right now in this spot. Right as you are."

John gasped at the words but tried to hold on to some sort of propriety. "People might see us, love."

"As ever, you see but do not observe. I've already turned the light out behind us. There are no other lights illuminating this side of the building. And the street on the other side of the river is quiet. And, to be perfectly honest," Sherlock leaned in and nibbled on John's ear, "I really don't give a fuck who sees us."

"Oh, god!

"Keep your hands on the railing, soldier."

"Yes, sir!" John hissed.

Sherlock's hands went underneath John's jumper roaming anywhere and everywhere at the same time. He could feel John's toned flesh beneath his hands and couldn't get enough of squeezing his sides. He teased himself and John – not allowing his hands to reach his nipples until every other inch of him had been touched.

"It's a bit chilly, so I'll let you keep your jumper on. Besides, it's one of my favourite's."

"Always knew you had a kink for my jumpers." John turned his head trying to steal a kiss. This time Sherlock did not disappoint him. Their lips meet in a flurry of heat, need, and passion. Tongues fought and teeth clashed for an age before they broke apart.

Sherlock let out a groan that was half lust, half pain. Impatient now, Sherlock's arms surrounded John's waist unbuckling his trousers fiercely. Bending down quickly, he took trousers and pants down in one swift movement. Although desperate now, Sherlock still had the restraint to slowly move back up John purposefully pressing the length and hardness of his cock into John's thigh and arse.

"Jesus, Sherlock. Please." Hands still clutched to the railing, John shifted his position to allow Sherlock better access.

John heard Sherlock opening up the bottle of lube. "Oh, you bad, bad, man."

Sherlock's breath was hot on his neck. "And, you love it."

* * *

BTW - certain elements of this story actually exist. The rugby team is called The Knoxville Possums and the Body Farm does exist. I've never seen either but they are real. Please read and review. Cheers!


	2. The Aching and the Aquarium

Thanks for the likes and the support. You guys are great! I do not own Sherlock.

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The Honeymooners – Ch 2 – The Aching and the Aquarium

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Still on the balcony, the sounds of the river below them helped to drown out John and Sherlock's moans – at least John hoped they did.

Sherlock warmed up the lube before starting to get John ready. The doctor tried not to be too loud in his gasps at Sherlock's first intrusion. Sherlock may not care who heard them, but John was fairly certain that public sex would likely land them in jail. And, that's not how he wanted to remember his honeymoon.

But somehow, John's cock found this situation more than a little arousing. It was down right hypnotic the way Sherlock's fingers stroked him. And the semi-public environment only made him achingly harder.

John sighed, adjusted to Sherlock's movements, and started to beg, "More, Sherlock, oh, I need. . ."

Feeling Sherlock's still wet hair and moist lips nibbling on his ear, John's control wavered as the detective whispered, "I know _exactly _what you need, soldier."

With that, Sherlock removed his fingers and entered John in a strong, swift movement. Both men cried out.

Sherlock stilled, "Are you alright?"

Oh, those words, those three little words that sounded so common yet said so much. Those words were part of their history – part of their shared psyche. Sherlock had first asked that after John shot the cabby, then while removing John from the explosives at the pool, and later during Baskerville. Those words grabbed his heart and made it ache with the fact that Sherlock was still so considerate at a moment like this.

But right now, John didn't want consideration.

"Yeah, but I won't be and _you_ won't be if you don't start moving."

John could feel Sherlock grin behind him placing a kiss on the back of his neck.

"As the doctor ordered." Sherlock slowly eased out before setting a firm and steady pace. John's head fell forward as his husband found just the right spot.

"Ah, yes! That's it. Just there."

"So tight, god, John." At first his voice was full of want and need, then Sherlock slowed and his voice changed to his curious and teasing side, "How do you stay so tight?"

"Sherlock... shut up and fuck me!"

John's frustration made his voice louder than he intended. A lone figure walking along the road in front of the hotel looked up in their direction. John's instincts as a soldier kicked in. He let go of the railing and dropped to the concrete floor of the balcony. Sherlock had no choice but to follow him.

John scraped his hands on the rough surface beneath him.

"Fuck!" John yelped at the pain in the flesh of his hands.

"I'm trying to!" Sherlock countered in his own frustration. He punctuated his last word with a strong thrust of his hips.

The change in angle somehow benefited both of them, and soon, the figure on the street was forgotten and Sherlock made John feel every inch of him as he pistoned his hips back and forth.

After an age of Sherlock's cock in him, John whimpered, "I'm . . . I'm close, love."

Sherlock took one hand away from balancing on the hard balcony and went to work on John's length. Its combination of silky skin and stout hardness was a contradiction that focused Sherlock when nothing else could. In fact, Sherlock had a whole room in his mind palace, that cataloged all the details of John's cock; while a whole wing was devoted to John, himself.

"Oh, Sherlock!" John gasped and shuddered into his husband's hand. A second later, Sherlock and John's left hands squeezed each other as the detective came – the dim gleam from their wedding rings catching the lights still emanating from the mountain town.

After they both came to their senses, they giggled and reentered their room. Not bothering to put on the lights, they stumbled and fell onto the bed. Leaving the door slightly ajar, the fresh mountain air and their physical exploits soon lulled them both to sleep.

* * *

The next morning quickly turned into next afternoon. John stretched and gently maneuvered his way out from Sherlock's arms and legs which covered him protectively. Coming back from the loo, he looked at the clock. It read 2pm.

"Sherlock?"

"Um, umh, hmp." Sherlock mumbled and rolled over in his sleep.

He knew it was cruel; but if they had any chance of doing anything today, Sherlock would have to get up.

John leaned over and whispered in Sherlock's ear. "Sherlock, we have a case, love."

At that Sherlock's eyes popped open, and he sprang from the bed. John stepped back and fought to keep a straight face. The detective took his surroundings of the room in for a moment before throwing a pillow at John's head.

"Not fair." Sherlock pouted.

"But effective." John grinned. "What would you like to do today, love?"

"Ah," Sherlock, forgetting to pout quite quickly, rummaged through a mountain of brochures that he'd collected. "Why don't we see some fish?"

"Fish? You mean like go fishing? We'd have to get special gear cause I'm not walking into an ice cold river on purpose."

"Oh, nothing like that, John. There's an aquarium just down the road. We can walk there in five minutes; and if it's not boring, it should take up the better part of the afternoon."

"An aquarium? Why would it take a whole afternoon just to see an aquarium?"

Sherlock just grinned.

* * *

"Oh." John Watson muttered. "_That's_ why."

The doctor looked at the huge building in front of him. Trust the American's to do everything in astronomic size.

"These are saltwater fish." John said looking down at the brochure. Sherlock flashed a VIP pass which let them bypass the rest of the public queuing to get in. He followed Sherlock through the doors. "Why would a saltwater aquarium be in the Smoky's which is landlocked?"

"For the tourists, John. Plus, it's entertaining and educational. Did you know that fish breathe through their gills and take in oxygen that way?"

John tilted his head. "Of course, Sherlock, that's primary school stuff."

"Is it? I must have deleted it."

"Well, if you deleted it, then why do you think it's interesting now?"

"Oh, John. Because you're here and we're on our honeymoon. And, I want us to enjoy this time and everything about it. Because I love you."

"You're trying to make up for the body farm, aren't you."

"Yes. Is it working?"

"I'll let you know later, you daft git."

John squeezed Sherlock's hand, and the couple started on their tour. They took their time and wound through the aquarium with ease.

When they came to the moray eels, John got a little squeamish. "Oh, that's awful. What ugly faces!"

Sherlock took one glance at it and immediately the words, "Looks like Anderson," fell from hip cupid bow lips.

John glanced sideways at his husband for a split second before they both started laughing. They laughed so much that people started to stare at them. Only after a few minutes of hysterics could they catch their breath.

Going through the Underwater Tunnel in the Shark Lagoon, Sherlock and John stole a quick kiss while the rest of the tourists gazed at the variety of sharks and sea turtles. When they emmerged from the aquarium, Sherlock questioned John, "Well, did you learn anything, doctor?"

"Yes, absolutely, a fascinating experience."

"Oh, what did you learn?"

John stepped up to Sherlock so that no one else could hear him. "I learned that I get off on trying to sneak kisses from you."

"Ah, a very interesting discovery. Would you like to delve into your discovery a bit deeper?" Sherlock grinned in the way that always let John know he was up to something.

John's reply was out of his mouth before he realized it. "Oh, God, yes!"

Sherlock grabbed John's hand and pulled his husband along after him.


	3. Of Moonshine and Mirrors

Thanks to all you wonderful readers. Reviews are welcome - good, bad, and ugly. M/M action so you are warned. I don't own anything - more's the pity.

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Ch 3 - Moonshine and Mirrors

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Sherlock pulled John along the main street of Gatlinburg in the growing twilight. Where he was going, John didn't know, but when the doctor saw something in the corner of his eye, he pulled back stopping Sherlock in his tracks.

"What's wrong, John?"

"Let's go in there." John flashed his dazzling mischievous grin.

Sherlock looked up at the sign and smiled. It read 'Ole Smoky Distillery'.

"OK. But I am taking us somewhere specific, and we need to be there in half an hour. However, this should be an entertaining diversion."

As they walked back into a little corner of shops, a distinct smell began to seep into their senses. The further they went in the stronger the smell was. A strange smell of corn and fermentation.

"Moonshine, Sherlock. Can you believe it? What a stench!" John smiled back at Sherlock.

Sherlock gazed over the throng of people in the shop. "Obviously, some people have no standards."

Even though the smell was awful, they continued exploring the space. To the right, glass walls revealed the different steps in taking corn and converting it into moonshine. The other surfaces in the shop were wooden. Everything else was made to look old but the modern distillery behind the glass walls oddly contradicted the rest of the shop. Sherlock became oblivious to the stench and focused on observing the process.

John ventured in further. "Well, they might not have standards, but there must be something in it. Look at all those people."

Pointing to three large bar areas in the back of the shop, John was amazed. It was standing room only. Every inch of space around the perimeter of each bar was filled with a person. Painted on boards around the top of each bar were the words, 'Free Moonshine Tasting'.

John leaned into the consulting detective, "Do you want to have a go?"

"Anything for my husband." Sherlock said as he followed John finding two empty places as the last round of samplers dispersed.

The bar tender set out little glasses which would hold slightly more than a thimble full of liquid. They started with the original moonshine. The burn that went down their throats with it was intense. After that they sampled the flavours of apple pie, peach, blackberry, blueberry, grape. Then the bartender went to the strongest one, white lightnin', before finishing out with the flavours of punch, lemon drop, pink lemonade, and strawberry.

Even though the samples were small, both John and Sherlock were buzzing as they left and debated which flavour was the best.

"Blackberry was brilliant!" John emphasized his 'B's a little too much.

"Ah, John, but the original is so much more authentic." Sherlock looked down at his watch. "Come along, John, or we'll be late."

"Late for what?" He gazed at Sherlock suspiciously.

With his widest smile, Sherlock replied. "It's a surprise."

Sherlock pulled John along until they stopped in front of an attraction which read, "Magical Maze of Mirrors". Sherlock walked up and spoke to the attendant.

"Sherlock Holmes. We have a _private_ session booked."

"Yes, sir. The last of the regular guests have just finished."

"Excellent!" Sherlock removed his long coat and his blazer revealing his favourite purple shirt fitting snugly across his chest. "Come, John."

John removed his coat too before following Sherlock. The lightness of his cream jumper contrasted nicely with the darkness of Sherlock's purple shirt in the dim light of the maze. As soon as they were out of sight of the attendant, Sherlock's lips were on John's. They both could taste the moonshine on each others breath.

"You've got a two minute head start, love. Then I'm coming to get you." Sherlock nipped at John's lower lip before pushing him forward. "I'll even close my eyes."

John palmed his husband's crotch before he hissed in his ear, "Oh, you kinky bastard."

Once Sherlock's eyes were closed, John wove his way around the maze. He desperately wanted to make this a challenge worthy of Sherlock. It was obvious that Sherlock had taken such care in planning their honeymoon, and John wanted to make the whole experience one to remember.

Soon, John looked back and saw a small version of Sherlock coming towards him. He rounded a corner and the image became bigger. John quickly turned around and tried to find another route that would take him further away from Sherlock. He didn't want this to be easy, and he didn't want it to be over quickly. John wanted to make his husband work for it.

They played cat and mouse for at least five minutes. And Sherlock started slipping out of his vision completely. Just when John thought he had finally given the detective the slip, Sherlock's long arms wrapped around him from behind.

"Oh, love, you are good." Sherlock whispered into his ear before turning him around and pulling John's mouth up for a savage kiss. He moved his mouth down John's tanned neck sucking bruises then soothing them with his tongue.

John turned his head to give Sherlock better access. When he did, his eyes locked onto the image of themselves in the mirrors. Not simply one reflection met John's gaze but multiple ones – each getting smaller the further they went.

The sight of five or six Johns and Sherlocks grinding together only made him harder. Fumbling with each others trousers, they quickly pulled them down to their knees. Sherlock's glorious arse was multiplied by the mirrors.

John gasped, "Oh, god, Sherlock. I thought I could never get enough of your arse. This is too much. You're too beautiful."

"Suck." Sherlock commanded. He raised his fingers to John's mouth, and the doctor took them in greedily trying to give them all the moisture his mouth could produce. A few minutes of that and Sherlock took his fingers away from John's mouth and place them at his other opening. As Sherlock entered his husband with his fingers, John shuddered and moaned into his lover.

Removing his hand swiftly, Sherlock barely gave John time to react before penetrating him with a swift, hard thrust. The detective's moans grew hot and loud as he fucked John into the mirror. Reaching for John's cock, Sherlock began stroking him in rhythm to his pounding. All John could do was lean his head back and close his eyes to the pleasure running through every vein in his body.

"Love, look. Look at us." Sherlock desperate plea shook John to his core, and he had no choice but to obey.

The sight of himself lost in Sherlock's demanding embrace along with the repeating images of his thrusting arse was simply too much. John bellowed out his orgasm – coming all over Sherlock's purple shirt of sex.

Sherlock also turned his head to look at their reflections. Seeing the multiple Johns spilling into his hands was too much, and Sherlock came with one last forceful thrust of his hips.

As they both came down, each one gently placing kisses on the other, John panted, "Sherlock, this is one fucking amazing honeymoon."

Sherlock grinned wickedly, "John, my love, we've only just started."


	4. Achmed and Bubba

Thanks to everyone taking the time to read my little honeymoon adventure for our favourite boys. I don't own anything. Shame.

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Chapter 4 – Achmed and Bubba

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After the mess John had made on Sherlock's purple shirt of sex, they nipped into a t-shirt and souvenir shop. Sherlock immediately found a striped hoodie which read "Gatlinburg" across the chest. It screamed "John" so he instantly had to have it. For himself, he found a shirt of Jeff Dunham's Achmed the Dead Terrorist with the caption of "Silence! I KEEL YOU!" on the front.

John pointed and laughed, "That's good. It even looks like you a little."

Sherlock just shot him a look and disappeared into the changing room. When he emerged, it was all John could do to keep his jaw from touching the floor. Jesus, that man could make a dishrag look sexy. The size he'd chosen was small enough to hug every muscle on his chest and the image was almost too hot to stand. John felt an uncomfortable tightness in his pants and quickly paid for the hoodie and shirt, carefully placing the stained shirt in a separate bag.

Walking back to the hotel, John felt his stomach rumble. Food was definitely needed. He looked down the street and found a restaurant he wanted to try.

"Let's go to this one."

"Oh, no. Definitely not." Sherlock shook his head.

"Why? What's wrong with it?"

"It's busy. It's loud. And I draw the line at entering an establishment with the name "Bubba" in the title."

"I take it you've never seen 'Forest Gump'."

"Obviously."

"Well, if we've come all the way to the southern US, we have to try some southern food."

"Not a concrete argument; but if you insist, we'll try it." Sherlock pointed at the logo on the restaurant sign. "But please tell me why that shrimp is wearing a top hat."

"Ok, you got me on that one. Let's just go in though. I'm starving."

Reading the menu was an experience in itself. They were brave enough to try the Hush Pups appetizer – a mixture of shrimp, fish, and cornmeal deep fried. But neither one was willing to go for the shrimp and grits. Instead, John opted for Bubba's Bucket of Boat Trash which included flash fried shrimp, fish with Cajun spices and a steamed Canadian lobster claw while Sherlock had the Kentucky Bourbon skewers – large shrimp skewered with red and green peppers and sausage and brushed with a bourbon sauce. While the food in that dish did sound interesting, Sherlock also chose it so that he could play with the skewers.

After taking off all the food from one skewer, he proceeded to prod John and bits of food on John's plate with it.

"Are you having fun?" John asked with a grin.

"Yes. Teasing you is always one of the highlights of my day."

"Good. That's fine. I want you to enjoy yourself, but you need to eat your food too."

"Alright." Sherlock took fork in his left hand and knife in his right, speared some food, took a bite and grinned. "Hmmm, surprisingly good."

"Knew you'd like it."

"No you didn't." Sherlock's words might have sounded rough, but they grinned at each other that silly grin that only lovers share.

Sherlock eventually did get board though and started watching the other customers as well.

Sherlock sighed heavily, "I can never get over how Americans can't even hold a knife and fork properly. They're supposed to be civilized for God's sake, not the last remnants of Cro Magnon Man!"

"Sherlock."

"Yes, John."

"You know you said that quite loud."

"Did I?"

"In fact, that big bloke from the table behind us is starting to get up. And, he doesn't look happy."

John pulled out his wallet quickly and put plenty of money on the table to more than cover the food and give a generous tip.

"Husband."

"Yes, John."

"Run!"

They bolted from Bubba Gump's restaurant and ran for the hotel. Luckily with the town being so busy, it was easy for them to lose the offended American.

After letting themselves into their room, both men tumbled onto the bed in a laughing fit. However, as they calmed down, Sherlock's gaze grew serious.

"I'm sorry, love. I didn't mean to ruin your dinner."

John grabbed Sherlock and brought him into a hard kiss.

"Don't be silly. It gave me a chance to run off those hush pups. Besides, it doesn't feel right if we haven't run for our lives at least once a week."

Sherlock looked at his husband full of awe and love. "Too true."

Kissing John gently, Sherlock maneuvered John on the bed and tugged the cream jumper over his head before producing two silk scarves from out of nowhere. Sherlock kissed down John's neck, over his right shoulder, and down his tanned and well toned arm. Lingering on the underside of John's bicep, for Sherlock, it was one of his favourite places. When he reached John's wrist, he slowly licked and sucked on it before using one of the silk scarves to tie John's wrist to the bedpost.

"Sherlock? What?" John voice only dared a whisper – afraid that it would crack if he tried to give it more volume. Sherlock leaned in and tenderly brushed John's ear with his full lips.

"Hush, my wonderful husband. Let me do this for you."

Any hesitance from John melted away as he let Sherlock do the same with his left arm. His lips danced along the outside of John's scar before letting his tongue taste the center of the healed skin. Sherlock had always had an awe for the ability of the human body to heal itself, but he'd never been more thankful for that fact as it saved the man who would become his husband and was also a major factor in their even meeting in the first place.

He also sucked a the sensitive skin just underneath John's elbow before tying John's other wrist to the opposite bed post with another scarf. Then the lanky detective removed the Achmed shirt and dropped it to one side of the bed before returning to John's lips with a passionate vigor that was searing. Finally breaking apart, Sherlock started his slow and languid decent kissing John's neck and moving downward at his own pace.

After each kiss, John heard Sherlock moan a singular phrase with a multitude of inflections: "My husband" - reverent awe. "MY husband" - possessive need. "My _husband_" - loving pride. His kisses meandered down John's muscular chest to his tight stomach and further to belly-button and visible hip bones. Each kiss and endearment sending a spark and a thrill down John's spine and ending up at his cock.

He felt more than saw Sherlock unbutton the top of his trousers. Then he couldn't believe what he felt next – Sherlock unzipping his trousers with his teeth.

John and Sherlock had always had an active sex life – once they had gotten over being perfectly stupid and in denial about the whole thing. But, John had never felt more cared for – more cherished than he did at that moment.

Sherlock removed John's trousers with a gentle reverence before running his hand up and down the front of John's pants. He was wearing the red silk boxers that Sherlock had bought him last Christmas -

Sherlock's favourite, in fact. The detective loved the contrasting feel of John's hardness through the ultra soft material.

Becoming slightly impatient now, Sherlock made quick work of his own trousers and pants. Returning to John's waist, he again used his teeth, but this time to remove the silk pants down John's hips, knees, and feet. John's cock sprang to attention finally being freed of the soft yet still slightly constricting fabric.

The sight before Sherlock made his mouth water. Producing lube from the bedside table, Sherlock surprised his doctor by putting it on his fingers and using it on himself. The image of the pale beauty of Sherlock's body getting ready for John was almost too much and John almost came right there and then.

"Please, love. Please. Now." John's voice deepened in his desire.

Sherlock smirked a little before straddling John, kneeling with one leg on either side of John's body, and finally tortuously slowly impaling himself on John's cock. Both men closed their eyes to the pleasure. When Sherlock was finally hilt deep on John, he wiggled his arse a bit to get the full feeling of John inside him.

"Oh, you tease! Move. I need to feel you move."

Sherlock complied and at first started an agonizingly slow pace. Every twist, every turn was felt and added to the overload of emotions building up in both men. Then when Sherlock sensed some indescribable change in the hardness of John's cock, the detective started riding his doctor with and abandon and force that he'd never experienced before. Nothing mattered so much as using his hips to grind down on his husband and fucking him into the mattress.

An uncontrollable string of words fell from Sherlock's lips. "John. My John. My. Mine. All mine."

The possessive need behind Sherlock's words were enough to send John's white hot liquid shooting into the detective's arse. The throbbing tightness that it caused sent Sherlock over the edge without even having to touch himself, and Sherlock came with a roar all over John's chest.

Sherlock released John from the silk restraints and each reached for and cuddled desperately with each other.

John tried to catch his breath, "Amazing, absolutely amazing."

"You know you do that out loud?" Sherlock looked over at his husband mischievously.

John broke down in hysterics at the same words Sherlock had used on their first case together and gathered Sherlock closer to him. Within minutes both men's breathing turned rhythmic signaling their decent into sleep.


End file.
